Le Toton
by Arithanas
Summary: SUMMARY: 1639, Blois. On winter, boredom and equality. The young Raoul puts Athos to the question again. DISCLAIMER: Dumas & Maquet works are public domain.


**Le Toton  
><strong>by Arithanas

Snow had fallen over them by surprise, so that the handsome white-and-red house had been buried under a heavy white blanket and now resembled a large white mass surrounded by frosted trees. Bragelonne was ready for a winter slumber.

The owner of the house, covered with a heavy wool cloak, went on the _perron_ and took a long puff of cold air while the constant cold wind waved the mantle and lashed his legs. He found winter weather invigorating, and the smile on his lips spoke of the good old days. He had been raised far north and missed a bit the cold in the ever-pleasant Blois, especially a good patch of driven snow. Athos would not mind spending a couple of days holed up at home.

A deep sigh, a mixture of disappointment and frustration, dragged Athos from his joyful meditations. At his side, Grimaud, wrapped with a thick shirt, rubbed his hands against his chest to keep them warm and looked at his prized planting beds with evident concern. It was a simple gesture that spoke of the hard work he had invested all those years to make the kitchen-garden the pride of the house; It was a pity that all this loving work was destroyed by a sudden change of weather.

"It may not be too late," Athos murmured, gently tapping the shoulder of his valet. Athos didn't mind to oversee alone the rest of the work necessary to make Bragelonne survive the frost "See to it."

The faithful Grimaud didn't need to be asked twice, with renewed energy and new hope, he went down the steps two at a time before looking at his master and thank him with a small nod. Athos, with the mind in different tasks at hand, started down the stairs until a joyous cry in a loud voice made him stop. Raoul was under the doorway and looked the snowed landscape ecstatic as he held in his hand a worn leather ball; a quick inspection showed that the boy had taken his precautions, from warm socks to wool coat, but for the watchful eye of parent, those were not enough.

"Get inside, Raoul," he ordered, raising his chin, "now it's too cold to play outside."

"I'm warm," protested the boy, putting the ball under his arm and catching in the air the green top that fell off the sleeve end of his shirt and which he always carried with him. "I've never seen so much snow..."

"I'm busy," replied Athos, of course he would not let his son roll in the snow unattended, "and snow will be here tomorrow. Inside, I said!"

The boy frowned and pursed his lips; his breath left his chest in a brief puff of condensation and with his little fists made the hint to place his arms akimbo. Raoul was the living image of determination, but Athos would be a novice if he were to lose heart by one of the tantrums of _M. le Vicomte_.

"I order and am I not obeyed?" Athos asked quietly and hardly raising an eyebrow with a brief gesture of disbelief.

"But Blaisois is there!" the child claimed, pointing with his chin toward the flowerbeds.

"And who told you that you are equal to Blaisois?" he asked softly, making every effort to not break contact with the child's eyes.

Raoul opened his mouth and closed it right away without saying a word, intimidated by the tone in which the question had been made. For a moment they both stared, in defiance, but the battle was won, as Athos knew he wouldn't find the arguments to refute the issue; with a dry gesture he pointed to the doorway, repeating the order peremptorily. Raoul forced himself to conceal a look of defiance and stormed into the house.

Athos closed his eyes, thankful that the boy had obeyed. Over time, he was certain; Raoul would accept the reins, as all colts do.

...

The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace as the evening had begun to fall. Athos finally could lounge in his favorite chair to enjoy the winter silence and that fine specimen he had found in the library, an old book that had belonged to his grandfather and dealt with hunting falcons. Athos had to admit that he was burning with impatience to revisit it. At the moment his hands cracked open the old book, Raoul entered the room. Athos smiled warmly at the child but only got a frozen nod, apparently he had not been forgiven for thinking of his safety in the morning, but he didn't take it personal and went ahead with his plans without worrying about Raoul's attitude.

He kept his eyes on Raoul every time he passed the page. At first, Raoul was sitting near the window, trying to glimpse through a crack how the wind swept the snow with a pathetic stance that made Athos smile, because that strategy didn't lead him anywhere. A little later —as soon as he felt cold, surely— Raoul took a book and lay down in front of the fireplace, but his hand playing absently with his top showed that the letters didn't capture his attention. Unfortunately for him, Athos had found the chapter on breeding and training of tiercels and soon he plunged into the intricacies of getting a small creature to understand the signs of his trainer.

"_Pa..._" Raoul's voice tore him from his reading, he knew not how long after.

"Tell me, Raoul," he said absently, his mind still on the bells and bewits, from the corner of his eye, he noticed that Raoul was kneeling beside his chair, with both arms on the armrest, as if praying in a _priedieu_.

"May we go to see _Monsieur_?"

"No, that's impossible," Athos said, trying to find how to mark the spot where he left his reading, "We have not been invited."

"May we go riding?"

"No, the snow is too soft and the horses can break their legs."

"I'm bored!" Raoul protested and beat the armrest with both hands.

"Unfortunately, my dear child, winter does not have too many distractions, you must settle for what is available..."

Raoul raised his pleading eyes, begging for a choice to alleviate his boredom. Athos looked at him with compassion, recalling his own childhood and his own moments of ennui. He determined that he could sacrifice his own amusement to help his young son.

"Bring me a piece of paper, a quill and ink," he ordered and closed the book.

Raoul got into activity in a hurry, without asking for reasons, spurred by the novelty and the ability to do anything but watching the flames. Athos smiled at this willingness and sought to place a table between two chairs. Almost running, Raoul returned to the instruments and jumped in place beside the table while Athos drew three concentric squares.

"Fetch me the clay figurines and also the wooden ones," he asked as he finished his strokes, smiling at the boy's excitement.

Raoul hesitated a moment but then ran to the corner where the count had placed a chest for keeping the child's toys. With great noise, he turned the broken bowls, balls, and ropes, looking for the figurines in the shape of men that Athos had bought him; and those in the shape of animals that the adult hand had carved from pieces of scrap wood. His most precious treasure dropped from the cuff of his shirt again and bounced among other toys. That was a toy Athos had carved for him when he explained how he had come into his life, he still called it his _toton_. The boy smiled and put it in his sleeve again before carry off with the figurines that he had found.

Athos put the figurines in the table and lifted the child to sit him on the opposite side to his chair. His first intention had been to teach Raoul _le jeu de merèlles_, but despite that the child drank every word of his mouth and seemed to understand each one of the rules, the level difference between them was too much, Raoul gave him all the battle he could, but he lacked the strategies needed to make the game interesting and it seemed that the spark of fun had died down in his eyes. It might be better to reserve this kind of games for future date.

"What's that that you carry in your sleeve?" Athos asked midway through the third game when Raoul put out his hand to move a figurine "Is it your _toton_?"

Raoul just smiled and pulled the toy from his cuff to show it to him. Athos admired the toy, not for the workmanship that he knew well, but for the traces of loving use: the scrapes on the green paint; the stem, polished by children's fingers; and the rather flattened tip.

"I guess you've become good with it," Raoul just nodded smiling, "Spin it!"

"But the table is full of things..."

"That just makes it more fun, isn't it?"

A naughty light lit up behind Raoul's eyes, his fingers took the stem and the top spun in the center of the board, turning on its axis and moving over the entire sheet, bringing down wooden horses and clay soldiers for the amusement of the child who followed the movement with genuine interest. Athos only intervened to prevent the toy from falling off the table. As the top stopped, Raoul started collecting figurines to put them up again.

"_Pa?_" Raoul asked as he watched the little horse that once he had called a dog. "Why Blaisois is not equal to me?"

"For the same reason Grimaud is not equal to me", was the answer he gave. Athos did not know what was more uncomfortable: that he continued pounding expressions or that Raoul insisted on knowing everything.

"What is the reason?" The boy insisted and made the horse ride to the edge of the table. "The priest says we're all children of God and that everyone is equal to the Heavenly Father."

Great! Athos knew the day would come, but he knew not that he would invite it to arrive early. How to explain to a child that the common people are not equal to the nobility? How to tell that, although the two had been held at the baptismal font by the same hand, they were not equal? How to do so without denying what was said by the priest? Above all, how to explain all of it without resorting to the truth?

"Raoul, do you remember the day I bought you the clay soldiers?" The boy nodded. "What did the seller say?"

"Ten for a sou!" Raoul imitated the tone of the seller while he kneels on the chair. "And it was when you told me I could choose thirty."

"Why do you think he was selling them that way?"

"Because nobody would buy a soldier for a sou?"

"It is an option, but he did it because, for him, every one of the soldiers was the same. Each soldier was his own creation and he would not give more value to one over the other. God does the same: you, me, Grimaud, the priest, we are all equal to Him. Do you understand me so far?"

"Yes."

"Well, I see that the surviving soldiers in your battalion are not equal," Athos said gently lifting a piece on which Raoul had painted the clothing and hair, in a crude, but creative way.

"He is the chief of them all!"

"Really?"

"It's the one with biggest sword and I like him the most."

"In the same way that you choose one to be the boss, God chose one to be king, the king chose his friends for becoming the nobility: Dukes, counts, barons... My father was a Count, and now I am Count and because you are my son, by God's grace, someday you will be Count"

"By God's grace..." Raoul repeated like in ecstasy, then, as if an idea had just been born in his mind he added: "but that does not explain why Blaisois could be in the snow and I don't!"

Athos tried to hide his disappointment, the sentence that was made to distract Raoul from the issue of paternity only served to put him squarely on the issue of the alleged inequity of God. Without knowing what he was doing, he extended his hand to take the carved wooden horse.

"If you were to choose, which of the two will you let me destroy?" Athos inquired holding both figures in the palm of the hand.

"None!" Raoul almost jumped on the table, extending his hand to retrieve his toys with a gesture of despair. "They are mine!"

"I'm not doing anything, Raoul, I was just asking a question to encourage discussion." Athos reassured and placed the horse and the soldier on the table. "Me, I cannot choose between you and Blaisois, but you and Blaisois are not equal in every way." Athos put his elbows on the table. "Let's talk about horses. Do you know my horse?"

Raoul nodded, he was calmer now that his toys were not in danger.

"And do you know the old mare of the wheel?" Raoul gave him a second nod. "Do you think that they are equal?"

"No, Emir is prettier and stronger."

"You're right, that is why Emir is the horse of the Count. He is useful, and the old Jolie is useful too, she works very well and thanks to her we have water to cook food and to clean the linens. Each horse has its work according to their characteristics, and in the same way each person has his place in life, according to his birth."

"I don't understand. Blaisois is an orphan... like me!"

"Like you, but not equal to you," Athos reproved and placed the figurines standing on the board. At times, Athos found himself wishing he could tell the child the whole truth, so he could stop evading the hidden burrows. "I saw some characteristics on you that I saw not on him. These characteristics make Blaisois more appropriate for work as Grimaud is."

Raoul pouted and sat far back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Athos looked at him surprised.

"It's not fair," Raoul answered the mute query, still sulking.

"Many things in life are not fair, Raoul," Athos said with a sigh, taking the top and making it dance on the game board, "sometimes we're just at the mercy of an unseen _toton_..."

The top spun upon itself, dancing around the pieces, touching just a few, bringing down even less.

"Grimaud!" The count called in that tone of authority that did not require shouting.

The faithful servant appeared at the doorway when the top drive ran out.

"Bring the kids of the castle to warm up," Athos ordered without even turning to see him. He rose from his chair and smiled at the child. "Raoul, pick up your toys."

"Yes, _pa..._," Raoul's response was automatic. "But why?"

"Because the host should have a clean house for visitors."

"No, why did you send for the kids?"

"Because they are children," he said, ruffling Raoul's hair. "Just like you."

...

Finally, Athos had managed to slip back into his book, he just had to tolerate the excited squeals of children playing with Raoul's toys in front of the fireplace; the fact that the Viscount was the one who shriek loudest consoled him. If he had known that the way to avoid Raoul's questions was to keep him busy with other children, he would have done it before. Grimaud came to him with a blanket to keep him warm and a basket of chestnuts. By the way his servant looked at him; Athos knew he understood what was going through his master's head.

"Quit smiling." Athos growled as he took the blanket that Grimaud offered him.

Grimaud did his best to obey, but good temper was hard to hide and Athos realized —chestnuts were an obvious sign— that he liked the idea of his master trying to be nice, especially to children. Athos followed him with his eyes as he headed to the huge fireplace and sat before it, ready for roast some chestnuts. Bah, Grimaud softened with age... Or maybe the years had changed them both and he refused to accept it. _The age or the children_, he thought whilst supporting the book on his lap.

His eyes watched the scene before him: Raoul was kneeling in front of a blanket filled with various trinkets while he tried to explain of how to spin a top to the groom's little daughter; her brother put up figurines; Grimaud was cutting the chestnut shells by the fire-dogs, and Blaisois waited for his turn, lying on the floor. Athos was unable to believe how domestic his life had become, but he knew he had no way to change that circumstance —and, indeed, he had no real desire to do so— therefore he picked up the book and did his best to reduce the crackling of the fire, the rattle of the chestnuts and the din of the children to a distant noise, like the snowfall outside the walls.

The next time his reading was interrupted, the cause was Grimaud who cleared his throat at his side. Athos found himself with a half-eaten roasted chestnut in his mouth. At what time he had begun to eat? Definitely he had been isolated from everything that was going around him, because, next to his chair, there was a table with his half-empty mug and a little dish of roasted chestnuts. Grimaud looked at him with a gesture in which anyone could read a scolding.

"What is it?" he asked, disregarding the expression. Athos was fond of Grimaud, but the Count was the master of the house and his valet didn't have any right to regulate his conduct.

In reply, Grimaud pointed out at the candle that marked the hours. The problem was clear: the children's bedtime had come and gone. His orders were needed. With determination, he got the rest of the chestnut in his mouth and rose from his chair, attracting the attention of the little people without trying.

"Viscount, is time to go to bed," Athos said lifting the mug to empty its contents.

"May God give good rest to _M. le comte_," the children answered in chorus, getting into activity immediately.

Athos was surprised by the tremendous efficiency that the kids showed: Raoul gathered the figurines in an old bowl; the children of the groom got together the chestnuts shells in another bowl; while Blaisois stacked the crude cups where hot milk was served, and handed them to Grimaud. In a blink, the room was clean. However, Raoul, visibly upset, kept looking under every piece of the furniture.

"What are you looking for, Raoul?" Athos asked with a distracted air, trying to decide if he took the book to his room or if he left it there to read the next day.

"I can't find my _toton_," the child responded with whining voice while wringing his hands.

Athos opened his mouth to tell him to stop looking for it —toys used to appear when they are not sought—, but by the way the children of the groom reacted, he decided to close it and let them search. Apparently, Raoul had shared that it was a significant toy and let them go to bed with a calm mind was the best that could be done at the moment. Grimaud joined the search and Blaisois took the bowl and threw the shells into the fire, as was customary in the castle, before rushing to seek the top.

Athos didn't join the hunt for the top —too many hands were already employed in it— besides the crackling of the fire drew his attention to the high green flares in the middle of the charred logs. The suspicion that the toy would not be found had already begun to form in his mind.

...

Raoul said his prayers on his knees before the closed window, but by the way he hung his lower lip and monotonous tone in which he recited a _Pater Noster_ with missing words, Athos could infer that the child did not agree with the abuse of authority committed by sending him to bed without his beloved toy. As usual when he was in such dilemmas, Athos turned his eyes at the always silent Grimaud, who was busy placing heated stones on the bed and who shrugged as if the issue didn't matter to him.

Once Raoul finished his prayers, he ran to the bed and began to take off the suit almost furiously. Athos tried not to take it personally, since the child was upset and there was not much he could do to reassure Raoul. Like every night, he sat down on the bed while Raoul found his place among the pillows and blankets, waiting for the last thoughts of the day. His hand reached out and stroked the curly hair of the child, an almost unprecedented display of tenderness that drew a pitiful sigh from Raoul's lips.

"What if my _toton_ was lost?" The question was asked in a whisper and his little quivering hand pulled the covers over his shoulder.

It was obvious that this was a question of great importance, to which, very fortunately, Athos had what was the right answer.

"What do you mean? There is not wood on earth? Cannot we buy more paint? Have I died?" Athos questioned the boy as he huddled him in blankets. "If your toy doesn't appear by tomorrow night, I will make you a new one. You have my word."

"Thank you, _pa..._," thanked the child and settled him in the big bed. The smile reappeared on his face and a kiss was placed on his forehead. "Good night"

"Rest well, Raoul," Athos corresponded, taking the candle with him.

...

Before daybreak, Athos ran down the stairs, without worrying if he made any noise, he was aware of the house routines and knew beforehand that no one would be roused at that hour. An idea had kept him wide-awake all night and he had to check the ashes just to make sure that his worst case scenario was real: the green flames could be due to chestnut shells, but most likely were due to the verdigris with which the painting of Raoul's toy was made.

The ground floor of the castle was freezing, Athos could see his breath in front of his face and for a moment he regretted his failure to cover himself with something warmer. He better get it over and done with. The large windows of the salon and the absence of fire in the hearth made that walking in that room was like wander in the open, and the iron chimney tools felt like chunks of ice on the tips of his long, aristocratic fingers, but the task was mercilessly short: among the ashes, covered with charred shells, were the remains of the toy.

The cold and discomfort were forgotten. Kneeling before the fireplace, Athos could only think of the disappointment of the boy. The toy meant a lot to him and all that remained of it was a shapeless and almost charred piece of walnut wood. What would he win by telling Raoul the truth? Was this another lie to make the boy happy and that worth more than a truth that embittered his life? Athos knew he could not protect his son from all the disappointments of life, and a toy was something too little, Raoul was only five years and he could cope...

The light footsteps behind Athos startled him, Grimaud came and put over his shoulders the blanket that he had used the night before, apparently he stayed up all night long. His hands were red and full of dirt, and proclaimed that he had been tending the garden of the castle in the middle of the snow. The servant knelt beside him and watched the cold hearth; he was smart, he did not need any explanations to understand what the ashes and debris meant, but the word that left his lips was unexpected.

"Blaisois," as usual, a word of Grimaud gave as much information as a speech.

Athos still had to get used to the idea of being the Lord of the land; even after six years, he thought only of his affairs and those focused his son. Blaisois, who the whole service regarded as Grimaud's son, added a new dimension to the issue: If he would tell Raoul about the burned toy, Raoul would demand to know how it ended up into the flames in the first place and the viscount was not mature enough to not blame Blaisois for the loss of his treasure. Vicariously, Raoul had every right over Blaisois in the same way that Athos had them over Grimaud, who didn't dare even to raise his eyes to beg mercy for his boy. The decision had to be made taking into account the lack of malice on the part of Blaisois.

"Burn it completely," Athos ordered as he rose from the floor, "no one is to know about it."

Grimaud suddenly raised his eyes, wondering what his master had in mind; Athos smiled and patted his shoulder with an almost affectionate expression.

"Accidents do happen," was all the explanation he gave before retracing his steps to his room.


End file.
